Are you dreaming?

We live in a dream, don’t we ? Yours may not be mine, even if mine looks like what you are invent­ing for yourself.

Your con­science, your amuse­ment, your desires to live and your night­mares are inter­twined to cre­ate your mem­o­ries, your sto­ry, the one with an intro­duc­tion, long or short chap­ters before the con­clu­sion reduces you to the silence that poets and philoso­phers have been cry­ing for all time.

It is pos­si­ble that you will live your dream in par­al­lel with a more ordi­nary life, even for­eign to this breath which, in prin­ci­ple, should make you cre­ative and inspir­ing. How many of you can say that the project they are tak­ing is the one that leads them to happiness ?

Is your dream part of this quest for hap­pi­ness ? Are you work­ing, bold and coura­geous, to build your death ? What will you have expe­ri­enced, what will you have accom­plished, what will you have loved ?

But is it nec­es­sary to mea­sure your life like this ? Who is the one who will move the beads on the aba­cus for you, will make the final judg­ment ? Aren’t you in a dream in which you sail uncon­scious­ly ? The uni­verse is so vast and so out of reach that it does­n’t care about your expec­ta­tions. He dic­tates for you the next steps, prob­a­bly giv­ing you all the free­dom to be bril­liant­ly who you are because, like me with you, we are insignif­i­cant, mag­i­cal, mod­est­ly glorious.

What do you dream that I don’t dream of myself ?

You, the fran­tic and the fanat­i­cal, why would you want to destroy oth­er peo­ple’s dreams ? How dare you claim to hear this voice supe­ri­or to your under­stand­ing ? Your ears are no dif­fer­ent from mine. Should­n’t you feed the silence, get away from the sun’s pas­sage, let it burn slow­ly, stay in the shad­ows until the stars overflow ?

We would be so hap­py to respect our dreams. That’s the word : respect. You are alive, I am, we will no longer be, oth­ers will be. Respect then for what we have. Respect for this imag­i­nary that ani­mates and restores us to the image of the divine.

I shud­der at the thought of los­ing my dreams, you know. I would like each of my days to be what they invent.

It’s dif­fi­cult, isn’t it ? The quest for hap­pi­ness remains an effort. Cul­ti­vat­ing the earth requires arms, run­ning after love requires legs, keep­ing the flame requires I don’t know what light.

Life is hard, for us, it also lasts, well beyond our dreams, root­ed in a blue ball that daz­zles in the uni­ver­sal kaleidoscope.

How mys­te­ri­ous this world is.

Am I in a dream ?